


To Love and Back

by vodkasam



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cutting, Dean - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Prostitution, SPN - Freeform, Sam - Freeform, cas - Freeform, castiel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2017-12-20 11:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkasam/pseuds/vodkasam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to keep Sam in school, Dean accidentally starts selling his body to make money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tw: cutting

Dean slammed the back door of the Impala, shattering the overwhelming silence, and walked around to the driver’s door. He stood there a moment, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth like Sam always said he should, but it wouldn’t make his stomach stop churning. Which he guessed wasn’t so surprising since he’d just carried his dad’s body bag through the parking lot and placed it in the back seat of his car. Sam was in the car too, though, and Dean couldn’t leave him alone with their recently deceased father. One last deep breath and Dean found himself climbing into the car and adjusting his mirror. His hands didn’t even shake as he put the car in reverse and sped away.

Dean tried to ignore Sam’s defeated posture, let alone his sobs, which were less than subtle. He curled himself into as much as a ball as he could, considering he was well above average height and wearing a seat belt. It was all Dean could do not to put a hand on his brother’s knee, but he knew that would have only made Sam cry harder. Instead of reaching out, Dean pressed his foot harder to the pedal, causing the engine to purr. They needed to get far enough into the middle of nowhere that no one would see the smoke or the fire. Dean wasn’t going to allow their emotions to stop them from giving their dad a proper hunter’s farewell.

Somewhere between Midland and Albany, Sam fell asleep. Dean was grateful, because all of Sam’s crying was making him crazy, and he wanted some quiet time to think. He glanced over to the passenger seat and there was something about the way Sam looked both traumatized and peaceful that reminded Dean of a night a long time ago, when they were just kids. 

It had been a long week. Dad was grumpy because they’d driven across what felt like a million states to hunt the yellow-eyed demon, and they’d lost the trail. Bottle after bottle appeared around the motel as the day passed, and Dean kept hiding them and sneaking away to throw them out when no one was paying attention. Dad came back with dinner, slamming the bags onto the kitchen table. Dean ran to sort through the mess of alcohol, chicken fingers, and protein bars, and started reading the directions on the pack of chicken. Dad was headed for his room when he came across a five year old Sam, who was lying on the carpet with crayons strewn everywhere. For some reason, the mess of crayons had irritated and angered their father, but Sam was too little to pick up on it. Dean, who was nine, was not. Sam leaped up excitedly, and thrust his badly drawn stick figure masterpiece at Dad, who tore it out of his hands and didn’t even bother to look at it. His father let out a low growl and ripped the piece of paper in half. Dean’s stomach dropped, and Sam’s puppy eyes welled up. “Clean up this goddamn mess,” Dad thundered before stomping back out to the Impala.

The motel door had slammed, and Sam burst into tears. Dean dropped the chicken on the counter and ran to his baby brother, kneeling down to embrace him. “It’s okay, Sammy,” he said gently, “it’s okay.” Sam continued crying; he’d been working on that piece for twenty minutes, and anyone who knew the kid knew how important coloring was to him. “I’m sorry about your picture, man. You wanna make another one?”  
Dean felt Sam shake his head, and he pressed his little brother closer. “Okay. That’s okay.” Dean pulled back and went to get the construction paper his dad had thrown on the ground. With even just a glance, Dean could see that the picture wasn’t completely ruined, just torn apart. 

Sam plunked onto the ground crisscross applesauce, still crying a little, but watching Dean intently. As Dean went rummaging through drawers, Sam forced out a question. “Does Daddy hate me?” 

Dean immediately stopped going through the current drawer and looked his brother in the eyes. “Dad loves you. And he loves me, too. A lot. Okay?”

Sam nodded. “Then why… Why did he break my picture?” Dean finally found what he was looking for – tape. He laid the two pieces on their back and took his time fitting them together like a puzzle. This motion was calming. 

“He’s having a hard week.”

“Does a hard week make people stop loving other people?”

“No. Are you gonna be a philosopher?” Sam looked at Dean blankly. Dean sighed. “Here, look, I’m gonna fix it, alright?” He turned his attention to the tape, pulling out two pieces for the top and the bottom, and then one more for the middle. He flipped over the picture and froze. 

Sam was bouncing over to take back his art, but Dean stood still, holding it in both hands. Sam had drawn a stick figure of himself holding hands with Dad on one side and Dean on the other. When Dad had torn the picture, he had ripped right through the space that connected his arm to Sam’s. Dad had literally ripped himself away from Sam and Dean.

Back in the Impala, Sam shifted in his sleep, snapping Dean out of his memory and back to the white streaks of paint on the road flying by. Coming back to reality left him feeling cramped and claustrophobic, and he realized he was driving a lot faster than normal, especially for it being a pitch black, two-lane road. He checked his speedometer – they were traveling at almost a hundred miles per hour. Dean slowed down as not to kill Sam, and decided to start paying attention to the area. They needed a well-hidden place, and Dean’s highway hypnosis had him starting with no idea where they were. 

About an hour later, Dean lightly shook Sam awake. His eyes were puffy from crying, but he didn’t complain. Hastily, he got out of the car to help Dean with the body, which they laid on the ground while they gathered enough wood to properly complete the job. That was what Dean had to consider this, after all – a job. Stay strong for Sammy, Dad always said. Take care of your brother. And to do that, he had to disconnect emotionally. Make sure everything was right. Make sure they wouldn’t have to burn Dad twice, because he knew Sam couldn’t bear that and honestly, neither could he. 

They wrapped the body and placed it on the pyre and they burned it and Sam kept crying but Dean didn’t let himself think and he was staring at the fire but not really seeing it and the next thing he knew Sam was running towards the flames, trying to stop the fire from eating his father’s flesh, and Dean stumbled forward to grab him and pull him back, but Sam tripped and fell and just sat there sobbing like when Dad tore apart his picture and Dean couldn’t take it so he went to sit in the car and breathe because the thoughts were too fast and they were all running together and it wasn’t feelings it was just words that flashed big and biting and red like “WRONG” and “FAILURE” and “DAMMIT” and eventually Sam came to the car but he wasn’t crying anymore.

There were no words, but he could feel Sam’s unspoken ones willing his brother to relax. Slow down. Deep breath. Dean turned the car out of the field and drove until they made it to the nearest town. He checked in alone to the first motel they came to, because Sam was in no state to speak to anyone, and he looked like hell anyway. He gave the lady behind the desk a fake card and a fake name to match, grabbed the duffels out of the trunk, and opened Sam’s door.

“Come on,” Dean said softly, and Sam slowly climbed out of the car. Dean put a light hand on his brother’s back and led him to room 107. Sam collapsed onto the closest bed, but Dean made a beeline for the bathroom. He closed the door, but then peeked his head out to look at his brother, who was already sleeping. Glad, Dean shut the door and turned on the shower. 

He stripped all his clothes off, throwing them carelessly to the floor, and rested his hands on the counter. He let himself lean, lean, lean, so that his head was practically in the sink and his arms were the only thing holding him up. The mirror fogged up and his chest was heaving, his body reacting physically to what he shoved out so hard emotionally. He found himself sweating from the humidity in the room (it couldn’t be the stress, could it? No way), so he turned the water temperature down a little and stepped under the stream. The pressure was stronger than he was used to, thank goodness; he needed it tonight. 

He couldn’t make himself actually unwrap the mini shampoo or soap, but he let the water rinse him off, wash away the thoughts pounding in his skull, the screams ripping at the inside of his throat. When the water ran cold, he got out and dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist before going to dig around in the pocket of his jeans. Before he and his brother had left the hospital, he’d taken one of the razors from the bathroom and dismantled it, stealing the four blades because he knew he’d need them. He kept his cool during his shower, but now that he was out, he was desperate. Not afraid of hurting his fingers, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two of the blades at once, but put one back. He already felt calmer, but his breath was starting to catch again. 

Dean sat on the counter and pulled the towel up around his hip and without thinking, he started to drag the blade through his skin. Dad, he thought, Dad, Dad, Dad. Sam. Dad. Sam. Weak. Pathetic. Better off dead. Drag. Drag. Drag.

He stopped, disgusted that he’d let himself get there so quickly. Sammy needed him, now more than ever. 

And suddenly Dean was flashing back to when Sam was ten, with rolled up jeans and bare feet running around the house, and he knew immediately that this was a horrifying memory but also that he couldn’t stop it. He kept cutting as he shut his eyes and remembered.

Sam had been carrying the dinner, and he and Dean had been joking around in the hall by the table, and Sam had slipped on something and the food had gone everywhere. The boys’ father stormed over and grabbed Sam by the shirt collar. Dean had protested and received a smack across the face. Sam was panicky, twisting to get away, but Dad wouldn’t let him go that easy. There was loud yelling, and Dean was praying no one would come check to make sure things were okay. He didn’t want to deal with Dad getting in trouble for bad parenting or abuse or whatever. It wasn’t abuse… was it?

Dean cut deeper.

As punishment, Dad forced Sam to remake dinner all on his own. He forbid Dean to help and told Sam he expected a gourmet feast. When all Sam could produce by himself were two burnt grilled cheese sandwiches (he planned to go without because it was all the bread they had), John took them both for himself and complained the entire time he was eating. Sam’s head remained hung all night, and when Dad finally left to go to a bar, Dean caught Sam crying in the bathroom. He convinced Sam to let him in, and he sat Sam on the counter just like he was now, and he rerolled the cuffs of his too-long jeans and talked to him about mindless things until Sam stopped feeling so bad. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam muttered, mortified.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“No, I mean… I mean about – you got no dinner because of me.”

“I don’t mind, Sammy,” Dean said cheerfully, even though he was silently praying his stomach would allow the growls to remain at bay. 

“Well I’m hungry,” Sam said sadly, with a wistful glance at the kitchen, “and there’s no food.”

“You know what helps me?” Dean asked, helping Sam down off the counter. After a prompting look from his brother, he continued. “Sometimes if I’m hungry and it’s not time to eat yet, I go to sleep so I don’t have to think about it. You wanna try that? We can go to bed early tonight, and if Dad’s not back in the morning, we can go walk around til we find a diner or a McDonald’s or something.”

A small smile appeared on Sam’s lips. He nodded. 

“Go get your pjs, buddy,” Dean said, and before he knew it, they were in their beds, ready for a long night of sleep. Dean had forgotten how bad hunger was, but he knew he could be strong for Sam. 

About twenty minutes into the boys trying to fall asleep far too early, Dean’s stomach started to complain. Sam pulled in a breath and Dean shut his eyes, wishing Sam hadn’t heard. “It’s nothing,” Dean said.

Sam turned over to look at his brother. His big eyes were shining with tears. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Sammy, it’s okay, I promise. It’s one meal. We’ll be fine.”

Back in the motel, there was a noise from outside the bathroom, and Dean shot to attention. He wiped away the blood trickling down his thigh and made a mental note to fold his towel to hide the red. He put on clean boxers and a pair of plaid pajama pants and walked into the main part of the room. 

“Dean,” Sam croaked, throat raw from crying.

Dean rushed to his side and wrapped his younger brother close to his chest. “I know, Sammy, I know.”

“You were gone for so long.”

“I know, I was just thinking. I’m okay,” Dean said, hoping his brother would believe the lie. Sam nodded, and Dean let his fingers tangle in Sam’s long hair. “You wanna go back to sleep?” Sam nodded again, and when Dean let go of him, his voice came out like a child.

“No,” he said shakily, “stay. Please.”

Dean nodded, slipping under the covers next to his brother, who curled up against his chest. He tucked a comforting arm around Sam’s back. Dean was secretly glad that he’d asked for two queens instead of a king, even though he knew this would be the sleeping arrangement when he checked in. He’d never admit it, but he needed Sam pressed up against him as much as Sam needed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: prostitution, cutting
> 
> Two days later...

“You swore your obedience,” Zachariah says coldly, not a hint of light in his eyes, “so obey.”

Dean whimpers, his body trying to shrink into itself. He’s 18, and he’s never done anything quite like this before, and he was definitely never told which part to play. Sub. Luckily he’d somehow managed enough time away from Dad and Sam spent watching porn to know enough about what the man’s words meant. 

We need the money, he thinks, we need to eat. Straightening his body seems an impossible task, but he manages, and it’s all the courage he needs. He rolls his shoulders back and pries his eyes from the ground up to the man’s face. He will not let his brother go hungry. Take care of Sammy.

“Much better,” Zachariah mutters, moving forward to press Dean’s body up against the hard alley wall. He’d come across Dean at one of the bars in town. The teen was hustling pool, trying to scrounge up enough cash to get a few days’ worth of meals for him and his kid brother, but he’d lost his last round… and all of that night’s money along with it. The kid was broke, and though the word Zachariah would use to describe how he felt for the kid wasn’t “bad,” he didn’t know how else to explain how they’d gotten themselves into this arrangement.

Zachariah yanks Dean’s boxers down and then his own, and Dean’s naked ass freezes against the painted brick, but he can only think about that for a second because Zachariah’s shoving into him. It’s way too fast, and fuck, it hurts, and to keep from crying out, Dean has to think of Sam, that he’s doing this for Sam. Sam is hungry, Sam needs to eat and so does he – ow, ow, ow… 

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a groan. He allows his knees to bend a little to try to reduce the pain, but that just results in Zachariah getting to push further into him. Dean wants to scream. And not in a good way.

Zachariah starts thrusting, his belt buckle jingling, smacking the outside of Dean’s thigh, and Dean lets himself focus on that instead of being afraid to get caught, instead of the pain that he knows he’ll be feeling for days, instead of the new amount of pain he’s experiencing now.

The metal buckle hits Dean’s leg seventeen times, but Zachariah finally comes, and Dean exhales a quiet sigh of relief. Zachariah stays lodged inside of Dean for a while, breathing heavily. Dean can smell the sweat on the man, and he can smell his breath, too. Ugh. But then Zachariah’s pulling out too fast and Dean winces but then he sees the man zipping up his pants and reaching in his pocket for his wallet. He pulls out a hundred dollar bill and hands it to Dean, looking as though Dean should fall to his knees in thanks. He is a bit awed by the amount, to tell the truth, but then Zachariah says, “That’s for your sweet, tight little ass, kid. You be around for a while? Thinking we could get our own arrangement going. Much as I like the rush from the street, somewhere more comfortable might be nice.” 

Dean wants to say no. He really does, but then he pictures the grocery store and Sammy’s puppy eyes and he starts muttering his phone number. Zachariah smiles, content, and punches the number into his phone. “Good boy,” he says, and pats Dean’s hair before walking away as though the two had shared no interaction at all.

Dean presses his back to the wall, his mind reeling. Okay. Okay. The money. You got what you came for. You wanted money, and you got it. Calm down, you’re fine. There’s a first time for everything, right?

By the time Dean gets back to the motel room with groceries, it’s past two o’clock. Sam’s sleeping sprawled across his bed, still fully dressed and atop the covers, and Dean is grateful not to have to explain himself. Sore and tired, he slides into the shower and scrubs his skin raw. He wants every last trace of evidence of his actions tonight gone, hidden from not only Sam, but himself as well. The reality of what he’s done starts to sink in, not only to his mind but also to his bones. He lets himself glide slowly down the wall, and he curls up under the spitting showerhead, just breathing. In through your nose, he imagines Sam saying, and out through your mouth, but not even that’s helping. 

Shaking, he reaches for his razor, and starts to dismantle it. He’s not really aware of what he’s doing; he has become mechanical. He lets his body rock forward and back, subconsciously attempting to calm himself as much as he can while he digs a blade out of the razor, nicking his fingers a few times in the process. 

A quiet breath leaves him as he presses the blade into his thigh. This is familiar. This is okay. This is safe. It takes about four cuts before his body starts to relax, but four isn’t enough. Not tonight, not after what happened. Not after he had to…

He shouldn’t have. Should have kept playing pool. Twenty five dollars would have been plenty. Hell, he had tons left over for later with what Zachariah gave him. It’s not like he’s trying to feed the Duggars, just two hungry teenagers who were used to surviving on just enough. What will Dad say when he finds out?

Dean’s blood suddenly runs cold. Oh. Dad wouldn’t be there to find out, would he? “Fuck,” Dean whispers, and before he can feel anything else, he digs deeper into his leg. The blood trickles out the side of the cut faster than usual, and it leaves Dean wincing. His insides are still sore as well, and his emotions are slashed to pieces. Dean could tell by Sam’s tear tracked face that his brother was grieving, but Dean knows better than to let himself. Stay strong for your brother, Dean.

He splashes some water onto his leg to clear off the blood and watches it swirl, pink, down the drain. As he towels off, he avoids the mirror completely. He yanks his shirt over his head and triple checks that his boxers cover his injuries before going to lie down in his bed. He can feel the ache from what Zachariah has done, and all he really wants is to snuggle up with Sam and let the pain float away with sleep. He almost gets up and goes to his brother, but he can’t bear to bring Sam back into wakefulness to experience more grief and pain. He needs Sam to think of him as strong anyway, and crawling into bed with your little brother isn’t exactly the way to do that.

He tries to get comfortable, but he can’t manage to; all he can feel is Zachariah inside him, too big, too deep, and he feels out of control. He has half a mind to go back to his blade, but he can’t, because it’s a miracle he didn’t wake Sam already. He tosses and turns for what seems like forever before sleep finally overcomes him. 

He slips into nightmarish dreams, drunk and sick and confusing, and he wakes with a wicked headache. His insides are still sore, but he won’t let himself complain. Sunlight is streaming in through the cheap motel curtains, so he forces himself up out of bed and starts nursing a beer. He finds a pan, grabs the eggs he bought, and starts cooking as though his life depended on it. Anything to distract him from the pain. 

“Really?” a voice interrupts his internal dialogue. “It’s not even ten o’clock and you’re having a beer?”

Dean smiles. “Morning to you too, honey.” 

Sam rolls his eyes and starts searching cabinets for a cup. “So what time did you get in last night?”

“Midnight, I think,” he says, silently hoping Sam was asleep then. He scoffs, and Dean’s shoulders slump. “Okay, one,” Dean says, but Sam raises his eyebrows. 

“I was up at midnight and one o’clock and you weren’t here. I almost called, but I didn’t think you’d like that.”

“You can always call, Sammy. Did you need anything?”

“No, I didn’t, and just tell me the truth. How long were you out? You should go back to sleep.”

“I’m fine, Sam, I don’t need more sleep. I got in at like two, okay? Happy?” 

Sam’s lips tighten. “Where were you?”

“The bars here stay open late. I was playing some pool, which is where these beauties came from,” he says, taking the eggs out of the pan and edging them onto two plates, dividing them as evenly as possible. He turns to the sink to rinse the pan, but mostly to give Sam time to grab the bigger plate. All these years, and Dean’s pretty sure Sam doesn’t think Dean realizes what he’s doing. But considering how Sam’s only fourteen and already taller than Dean, the kid needs to eat more than he does anyway. Dean’s happy to give up whatever it is to keep his brother healthy and happy.

They sit at the table across from each other, digging in to the first real food they’ve had in days, what with everyone hunting and then in the hospital. 

“These are so good,” Sam announces through a particularly large mouthful.

Dean chuckles. “Slow down, champ, or you’ll make yourself sick.”

Sam nods quickly, and reduces his pace. “I, uh… I wanted to ask you something, actually.” Dean raises his eyebrows, an invitation for him to continue. “Okay. Well, I know it’s really soon to start asking this but, um, now that… you know. We’re kinda doing our own thing, I-I guess…” Dean pretends not to notice the tears filling Sam’s eyes, and ignores the twisting his own stomach has suddenly engaged in. He starts thinking that some fresh cuts on his legs certainly seem tempting, but then the younger clears his throat and continues. “Well, I was wondering if we could maybe, you know, pick a place and uh, stay a while.”

Dean looks up, staring at the mold on the ceiling as he ponders Sam’s question, as well as the hastiness of it. “We- we don’t have to,” Sam’s saying, and Dean looks back at him. “I just asked cause I was doing some research about the town,” of course, Dean thinks, “and I stumbled across a page about the public school here… It’s actually a really good school. Nationally recognized and all that. And it’s not so bad here. I know it’s a huge thing to ask, but-”

Dean’s phone vibrates, a text, and Sam falls silent, expecting it to be some kind of hunting deal. But it’s not. 

This is Zachariah from last night. When can I see you again?

Dean exhales deeply, and roughly pushes the phone back into his pocket. 

“Who was that?” Sam asks curiously.

“No one,” Dean says, “it’s nothing.” His mind is ticking, working through the possibilities. If Zachariah sees him just a few more times, he’ll have enough to put down a payment for an apartment and get some food… if he can stay on Zachariah’s good side, he can make this work. Sam wants to stay, and Dean wants Sam to be happy. Dean knows how important education is to his brother, and he wants that for him. He knows how hard he would work, how successful he could be. Dean can be good enough for Zachariah. All he does is try to please Sam, adding one more person can’t be too hard.

“I think,” Dean starts quietly, and Sam won’t look at him. “I think that could work. I don’t know if I can promise til the end of high school, but I think we can work it out for a little while.”

Sam lights up, ecstatic. He’d clearly been expecting Dean to say no, which upsets Dean a little bit, but the next thing he knows, he’s getting another text.

Want to come to my place? Which is quickly followed by, I’ve been thinking about you all day.

Dean finds a sick satisfaction in this; the job is secured for at least tonight, and they’ve got enough food to last almost a week (thank the lord for store brand bread and peanut butter). He decides to text Zachariah a yes back, but he won’t again if he gets paid any less than he did the previous night. (He doesn’t include that part.)

I’d love to see you again. Been thinking about you, too. Where’s your place? What time?

Sam is so happy that he doesn’t even care who’s texting Dean. For a second, he makes eye contact with his older brother, and a look flashes across his face like he’s about to burst into tears, but as soon as it’s there, it’s gone.

And then Dean’s phone is going off again, this time with the address, and Dean feels the adrenaline start moving through him. He’s going to meet someone to have sex. Tonight. A man. He is going to have sex with a man. Again. He can’t believe this.

He’s prostituting himself, and in this moment, it feels right. Where else can you get paid so well for doing something so natural? Sam will never have to know, probably won’t even think about it. Maybe, if things go right, they can even buy some new clothes. It’s been too long.

8:30, the text reads, and don’t be late. I have plans for us.

Dean’s not sure why he’s trying so hard to put together an outfit, because he remembers hating every second they were in the alley and being in pain all night and this morning. He supposes things changed when he could buy real food and make Sam so happy with the thought of staying in one place for more than a few weeks. That made it all worth it. That’s what he’s going to hold onto tonight if it feels as bad as last night felt. He really hopes it doesn’t.

Dean spends most of the day pacing around the motel room. Sam’s doing research, but Dean can’t even fake interest. He’s nervous and excited and scared for tonight; he’s only 18, he’s never done any of this before. Sure, casual make out sessions with girls behind the bleachers and all that stereotypical crap, but this is different. He’s getting paid to have sex, but not only that – he’s getting paid to play the submissive role. This should be interesting.

He tells Sam he’s going to play pool again at the bar, and that he can call if he needs. Dean’s nervous about having his phone on during something like this, but if there’s an emergency, Sam always comes first, even if that means it shatters his illusion of a happy, normal high school experience. 

The weather is hot in late July, but Dean wears his jacket anyway. His leather jacket is his security blanket, his coolness, and his happiness all in one, and he needs it now more than he has in a long time, because right now he’s walking to meet Zachariah at his apartment, and he’s scared as hell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: cutting urge, reference to sex/prostitution

Dean can hardly breathe. He’s standing outside Zachariah’s apartment and his hand is raised to knock, but he’s frozen in place. He shouldn’t have come here, really, but he knows leaving is not an option. He stands still for a long moment, letting the seconds tick by, until a shuffle down the hall breaks his trance. He glances but doesn’t see anyone.

One, he thinks, two, three, and he forces himself to knock. The instant he does it, he regrets it, but then he hears Zachariah coming to the door. He rolls his shoulders back as he hears the door unlatch and then open. 

“Dean,” Zachariah says, his tone conveying a million thoughts. Dean smiles his most confident smile and strides in. Zachariah, clad in a suit, closes the door behind him. Dean assumes the clothes are from work, and even though he’s curious, he knows better than to ask questions in a situation like this.

The apartment is classy. It’s large enough for one, and so clean that it makes Dean feel dirty, even though he just showered. “Would you like to see my room?” Zachariah asks, his mouth breaking into a toothy grin.

Dean doesn’t particularly want to, but he finds himself nodding anyway. Do it for Sammy, he thinks, and follows Zachariah into the bedroom. The room has nothing personal in it. No photographs, no art, nothing but blank walls and bland bedding. 

“Did you just move here?” Dean asks without thinking.

“About four months ago,” Zachariah answers shortly, looking him dead in the eyes. Dean shifts uncomfortably. “Do not do that again. I expect you to keep your eyes lowered. You will not speak unless you are spoken to.”

Dean nods and casts his eyes to the floor immediately; he would have regardless of the command. His cheeks redden, and Zachariah smiles evilly. “Now that, I like. I embarrassed you, huh? Little Dean, already making mistakes.” He clucks his tongue. “You won’t last.”

A fire starts in Dean’s mind – Zachariah sounds just like Dad. Like Dad used to. No, don’t go there now, don’t go there, don’t go there. You need this job, you have to do it right – 

And then Zachariah’s unzipping his pants and forcing Dean to his knees. Dean finds it a little strange that the man got so turned on by embarrassing him, but it doesn’t matter. He’s numb now, he could care less. He just needs the money.

Timidly, Dean reaches for Zachariah’s boxers and, when the other man doesn’t hinder him, pulls them down. Zachariah lets his head tilt back as Dean takes a gentle hold of his swollen cock. He strokes it for a few moments to let it get fully hard, and then leans in to start kissing it. When his mouth wraps around it, Zachariah lets out a quiet moan and leans his back against the wall. Dean is tempted to let his teeth graze along the shaft, but he needs the money, so he wants to work well enough to guarantee himself at least a few more nights in this apartment. 

Dean remains gentle, and slowly fucks Zachariah’s cock with his mouth. He peppers it with kisses and strokes, coaxing out all kinds of noises. He doesn’t really think much about what he’s doing, just half-pays attention to what’s working and what isn’t and he goes with the good stuff. The night passes quickly but slowly, and Dean gets paid almost double what he got the night before - $175. 

This continues for three days, with Dean not being told to remove his clothes. He fucks Zachariah with his fingers, his mouth, his hand, his tongue. Dean does not speak, ever, and Zachariah spends a lot of the time with his hand in Dean’s hair. Dean has started to forget what Zachariah looks like, and honestly, he doesn’t mind. He gets back late every night, and the less he remembers, the less it feels like lying when he tells Sammy that hustling pool at the bar was fine and that he hit big.

It’s the fourth day that sends Dean reeling.

He’s only been at Zachariah’s for a few hours when he finds himself hurrying down the hallway of apartments, blood pooling at the waistband of his jeans. He fumbles with the buttons on his phone, his hands almost shaking too hard to access his speed dial. He presses one and holds.

A few rings pass and Dean’s still running, his breathing growing more hysterical as he goes. Then there’s a soft click and a warm voice floods his ear.

“Dean?” Just the sound has Dean choking back tears. More urgent this time; “Dean?” The panic in the voice is what makes Dean get the words out.

“Sam…”

“Dean, oh god, are you okay?”

A harsh sound rips from Dean’s throat, a warped laugh. “Sammy I need you to come get me. Please. Hurry.”

“Are you still at the bar?”

Dean is confused for a moment, but then he remembers. “No, uh… I’m, uh, up the street from there. I’ll be coming your way. Please find me.”

“I will, Dean,” Sam says, his voice more reassuring than anything Dean has heard in months, maybe years. He nods, even though he knows Sam can’t see him. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“No!” Dean says, a wave of sobs trying to fight their way out. “Please don’t hang up. I-I need you.”

“I’m right here, Dean. Your Sammy. Right here.”

Dean nods again. “Thank you,” he whispers.

The brothers stay on their phones. Two minutes pass, and Dean still hasn’t slowed to a walk. Finally, Sam cuts into the silence. “I see you. On your right.”

Dean folds his phone in half and wraps his arms around himself, still running like hell. 

As Sam gets a look at his brother’s face, his body shakes with a sudden chill. Dean is sweating, bleeding, running, and looks more distressed than Sam has ever seen him; still, Sam knows it won’t be tonight he’ll find out what happened to his brother, and it may not be ever. Sam picks his pace up, and a few seconds later, his big brother is falling into his arms. Sam holds him for a long minute, people stopping to stare, but no one says a word.

When the worst of the shaking subsides, Sam takes Dean by the hand and leads him back to the motel. It’s a quick walk, but Dean can’t stop looking over his shoulder, and he won’t let go of Sam’s hand, and that worries Sam. Once they’re inside, Dean tries to curl up on the closest mattress, but Sam stops him. 

“Dean, I need to see your side.”

“No– No!” Dean is scrambling back away from Sam as if Sam were approaching him with a hot poker. Shocked, Sam stops, and Dean gets his way. He starts to doze off, but within minutes he jumps awake, terrified. 

“Sammy,” he calls hoarsely, and Sam quickly goes in from the kitchen. Dean doesn’t cry when Sam touches him, but he trembles and curls in on himself, as if trying to protect himself. Sam leans against the headboard and pulls Dean onto his chest, letting him shake into his soft t-shirt, stroking his hair. 

Sam starts to softly sing.

Hey, Jude… don’t make it bad  
Take a sad song and make it better  
Remember to let her into your heart  
Then you can start to make it better

Hey, Jude… don’t be afraid  
You were made to go out and get her  
The minute you let her under your skin  
Then you begin to make it better

Dean lets his fingers tangle in the hem of Sam’s shirt. No words cross his lips, but Sam still murmurs, “Shhh, Dean. It’s okay. You’re safe now, I’ve got you.” Dean nods, and Sam presses his lips into his hair. 

Now that the roles are reversed, Sam understands why Dean always says he doesn’t mind taking care of him. He feels powerful, invincible even, and though witnessing Dean’s pain is frightening, he loves feeling needed. 

“Sleep,” Sam murmurs, and Dean lets his heavy eyes close. His head is still tilted against Sam’s chest, and though he may look better than he did half an hour ago, he’s been reduced to begging some invisible higher power that probably doesn’t exist for help. Help with controlling his stupid emotions, his embarrassing fear. Praying for Sammy to forget what he saw, for the fierce ache Zachariah inflicted to subside. For sleep to come without nightmares, a healing sleep, that will leave him feeling rested and strong.

And meanwhile, Sam is praying to God that Dean is okay, that whatever he experienced will not leave any lasting damage. Dean, more than half asleep, lets out a strangled sound, but no tears follow. Sam pulls Dean tighter into his embrace. 

When Sam is sure Dean is asleep, he brushes Dean’s bloody shirt up a few inches and immediately feels sick. Lines of cuts cover Dean’s sides. Some are superficial and look like they have the potential to be self-inflicted, but others are deep… really deep. They’ll need stitches in the morning. What happened at the bar?

Sam tears his eyes away from his Dean’s side to stare at his face. Even in sleep, he looks frightened. “Oh, Dean,” Sam mutters. He sighs heavily, causing Dean to stir, but he doesn’t wake. Sam places an arm behind his head to serve as a pillow on the hard headboard, and he closes his eyes and tries to relax.

Dean sleeps on his brother’s chest quietly for a long while, but then the nightmare comes.

Dean is back in the apartment, and he’s just finished getting Zachariah off. Again. When the man instructs Dean to mix him a drink as he lies sated on his bed, Dean wordlessly obeys. He finds himself not even tempted to do wrong anymore, like spit in the drink or throw in something nasty. He has already become used to fulfilling the man’s needs; he has to be perfect in order to get paid. 

Dean returns with the drink and sits at the man’s feet, staring at his own hands, wishing he could be back at the motel with his little brother, watching football on TV or drinking enough to forget dad. Soon, he tells himself. 

“I would like you to take off your clothes,” Zachariah says with a smirk.

Dean obediently removes his shirt, and Zachariah stares approvingly. All the years of training and hunting with Sam and – Dean winces – Dad have granted him a nice build. His whole upper body is sculpted with muscle. 

Dean suddenly feels chilly as he realizes that in a few seconds, his legs will be exposed. Shedding his pants is an entirely different issue than the shirt, which came off so easily. His body is trying to freeze, but he knows better than to let it, especially in front of Zachariah. If he can just move quickly enough, maybe the other man won’t notice. Maybe there’s a chance that he won’t see. Dean turns his body slightly sideways and slides his pants and boxers down in one motion. 

He bites his lip nervously as he quickly moves toward Zachariah, letting himself lie on the bed as not to be seen. “Ah, ah, ah,” the man tuts. “I want to look at you.” Dean swallows thickly. A moment passes. Dean fiddles with a loose thread on the comforter. “Let me look at you,” Zachariah says, his voice sharpening. 

Dean shuts his eyes and slides back off the bed. He stands still as a statue, his hands on his thighs, but they’re not big enough to cover all the damage he’s done. Zachariah’s eyes turn dark and his grin grows wide. “Oh, wow,” he breathes, “am I going to have fun with you…” His hand snakes out onto the nightstand, and suddenly Dean is gasping, bolting upright. The motel is around him but he doesn’t recognize it for a few seconds. He’s panting and sweating, and even Sam’s voice isn’t helping to calm him down. His brother reaches out to touch his knee, and when he makes contact, Dean wrenches away from it. He’s stumbling across the room, still too shaky from the dream to be stable. When he gets into the bathroom, he slams the door behind him and locks it as quickly as he can.

“Dean…” Sam’s voice filters through from the other side of the door. “It’s just a dream, Dean, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Dean knows Sam can hear his ragged breathing, and Dean knocks once on the door, signaling Sam that he can stay if he wants, but he’s free to leave if he chooses. Sam knocks once in response, communicating the word “stay.” Dean can hear him sit down and lean his back against the door.

Dean is fumbling through the drawers for anything sharp, anything he can make into a weapon for himself, but everything has rounded edges or is empty. Then Dean hears Sam get up and leave, and a new wave of anguish washes over him. Please don’t leave me, Sammy, he thinks, but a few seconds later, Sam returns. 

He settles back down into the door, and gently clears his throat before he says, “The night wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another.” Dean swallowed, confused, but he forced his breathing to quiet a bit so he could listen. “His mother called him ‘WILD THING!’” Dean shuts his eyes in recognition; he used to read this to Sammy when he was little and Dad was away. There were nights Sam refused to go to bed without it. 

Sam knows his brother is listening, and so he continues slowly, as if reading to a child. “And Max said ‘I’LL EAT YOU UP!’ so he was sent to bed without eating anything. That very night in Max’s room a forest grew and grew - and grew until his ceiling hung with vines and the walls became the world all around.” Dean shivers at his favorite line, letting himself curl up on the ground and listen to his little brother’s voice.

A calm falls over him as he listens to the familiar story. He finds himself remembering lines before Sam reads them, and he is glad he could still remember a few of the pictures. He always thought Max’s suit was dorky, but he’d secretly been jealous of his crown. 

Sam continues reading, and after a few moments, Dean’s breathing returns to normal. Dean makes sure to move around enough by the door to let Sam know to move, and when Dean emerges from the bathroom, he sits next to Sam and takes the computer from his hands. He pushes the night out of his mind. He’s Dean Winchester, after all.

Dean starts reading. “And when he came to the place where the wild things are they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws till Max said, ‘BE STILL!’ and tamed with the magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once. And they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all and made him king of all wild things.” 

Dean feels just like he used to when he and Sam were little. Nothing has changed. Sam is pressed up in his side slightly behind him, following the words Dean reads with his eyes, only this time they’re looking at a screen instead of a book.

Dean reads slowly. He has an excuse to stay out of bed, to be with his brother where he feels safe. He knows he’s never safe – hell, Dad drilled that into his head a million times – but he feels safe, and that’s enough for him.

“’And now,’ cried Max, ‘let the wild rumpus start!’ ‘Now stop!’ Max said, and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper. And Max, the king of all wild things, was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.” Dean sneaks a glance at sleepy Sammy. His stomach tightens as he realizes how much of his brother looks the same as it used to when they were young, but also how old he looks, and how tired. The kind of tired that old men who fought in lots of wars are. The bad, dangerous, heartbreaking kind of tired. 

Dean lets himself wrap an arm around Sam and pull him closer. Sam seems surprised for a second, but quickly relaxes into Dean. Dean realizes all over again how tall his brother his, and how no one really saw it while it was happening. It seemed like all of a sudden, Sam was huge. I really love you, buddy, Dean thinks.

“Then all around from far away across the world he smelled good things to eat, so he gave up being king of where the wild things are.” Dean finishes the pdf and hands the computer back to his brother. 

“Get back in bed, okay?” he says gruffly. “I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again.” 

Sam sits for a moment, staring at the last words of the story. Dean climbs into the bed that isn’t Sam’s, but he leaves the light on. He falls quickly back into sleep, even though he wasn’t planning to sleep at all for the rest of the night. Sam stays sitting by the door for a long while, and when he finally climbs into bed, he can’t help but leave the light on for his brother.


	4. Chapter 4

A few days pass before Dean is up for even leaving the motel room. Still, he knows Sam’s getting worried, what with the secrecy about the damage to his side and the large amount of food that appeared the night of The Incident. He feels like he doesn’t have a choice but to get out of the room, so he starts looking for jobs. He finds a few nasty bars and creepy clubs, but he’s looking for something a little bit nicer, now that he knows Sam wants to stay. He figures stripping can’t be _that_ hard. 

Eventually he finds a gentlemen’s club that seems okay. It’s called Trickster, and it’s in a niceish part of town. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to find a place he can afford around there, but he’s getting ahead of himself. He doesn’t even know if they have jobs available. 

He walks up a few steps and pushes the glass door open. The floors are white tile, shiny, clearly really clean, which reassures him more than he would have thought possible. Before he realizes, he’s at a large front desk, and there’s a small man behind it. 

“Hey, sugar,” he says, but it’s playful and only a teeny bit creepy. “You here to play?”

“Uh, no, I, uh…” Dean says, unsure of how to put what he wants into words. The man is looking at him expectantly. “I was wondering if you’re hiring.”

“Oh, honey,” the man smiles. “Guy like you? You’re hired,” he chuckles. “What kind of work are you looking for?”

“What do you have?”

The man reaches down and pulls a large binder out of a drawer. “Well… we’re filming next week and we need one more for that…” He flips a page. “We’ve got a strip shift open on Wednesday, and we need two waiters for Thursday…” He turns a few more pages. “Aaaand I just had one - no, two - clients that just put in for regulars.” 

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Regulars, huh?”

“They money’s good,” the man says with a light shrug. “Just depends on what your thing is. Hear anything you like? I technically have to interview you, but I can do it right now if you want. You’d be amazing for business,” he says, not caring to hold back a wink.

“I don’t know,” Dean says, shifting a little. “What pays the best?”

“So money’s important,” the man replies with a smirk, tapping his pen on the counter. 

“No, I just-“

“It’s alright. Tons of people in the business stick with it for the money. But I promise you here that we have incredible security no matter where you work. There are cameras everywhere, and the clients all know that. We have monitors and guards that aren’t afraid to bust in at any time. And I mean _any_ time. As for the best money, I’d look into applying for the regulars. There are two, and I can send your information in for both if you’d like. We’d just need to take a headshot, get your height… Let’s take this into my office, yeah?” he asks, when Dean still seems serious about staying.

Dean follows him back into the room. “So, if one of them wants me…”

“It’s a steady stream of cash. It’s the highest paying job we have that you can know the money will be there. These are both sub jobs. You’d most likely go to their place, but what goes on there is between the two of you. You’d both sign a contract that I will keep here, but you’ll both receive copies. I’m Gabe, by the way. Gabriel.”

“Dean.”

“That your real name?”

Dean nods.

“Good. You can tell them whatever you want, but I use real names here. So, you in to apply?” When Dean nods, Gabe slides two file folders over to him and then a third. He places a pen on top. Fill this out first. Then check out the two of them, just to make sure you’re interested.”

Dean stops at the address section, and Gabe happens to look over at that moment. “If you don’t have an address, it’s cool with me.”

“M’staying at a motel with my brother right now,” Dean explains, trying to sound as casual as possible.

“That’s fine. You can just leave it blank.” 

Once Dean fills out the rest of the form, he opens the folders. The first guy is attractive and has amazing blue eyes. Dean can’t pronounce his name, but he looks vaguely familiar. Dean moves onto the second folder. He opens it with a sharp intake of breath, which catches Gabriel’s attention. 

“You know that guy?”

“Uh, I – yeah, I guess -”

“He do something to you?” 

The sharpness in his voice gets Dean to look up at him. Dean nods. 

“He hurt you?”

When Dean casts his eyes down and nods again, Gabe takes the folder from Dean’s hands and takes the papers out. He puts them into a shredder Dean hadn’t even noticed. This place is legit.

“Come here,” Gabriel says, and he leads Dean into another room. It’s small and has the looks of a break room. He tells Dean to sit down and gets him a cup of water before sitting down across from him. “So you’ve done this before,” he says.

Dean nods, slightly embarrassed. 

“Well, I’m glad you came here. You were on the street, huh?”

It seems to Dean that all he can do is nod, but he just can’t make the words come out right now. Nodding is all he’s got. 

“Okay. Well, I know Castiel personally-“ so _that’s_ how you pronounce that – “and I know for a fact that he’s not the hurting kind. I don’t know how he’d feel about a mark though.”

Dean’s face falls. 

“You got one, then?” There’s a pause. “I’m sorry, but I gotta see it before I let you go anywhere with anybody.”

“S’not infected,” Dean says quietly, but he stands to pull his shirt up anyway. Gabriel lets out a slow breath as he surveys Dean’s side. Dean didn’t let Sammy see this for a reason.

It’s a huge, thick, red gash across his side, and it moves with Dean’s ribs as he breathes. 

“Okay,” Gabe says, and Dean lets his shirt fall back down. “That’s gonna have to go in your file. Glad you got away okay.”

“Me too.”

Gabe starts writing something in Dean’s file, but he continues talking to him anyway. “So are there things that you won’t do? That should go in here as well.”

“I really don’t want any more of these,” Dean says, trying to smile as he motions to his side. Gabriel nods seriously and keeps writing. “And… I don’t know. I just need everyone to know that stop means stop. That’s pretty much it, though.” After a few more seconds, Dean saw Gabriel write, “stop means stop,” on the paper, which made him smile a little.

“Okay. We just need to take your headshot, but you’re about done with me, Mr. Winchester. If Castiel doesn’t think you’re the right match for him, we can talk about other positions here.”

Dean nods, grateful to be given such a good opportunity regardless of whether or not it was for his looks. He didn’t care where the money was coming from, he just knew he needed it. He wanted so badly to make Sam happy, and if Sam wanted to stay in one place for a while, he would definitely try to make it happen.

\---

The call comes on Monday. 

Gabe phones him around noon and says that Castiel wants to meet with Dean on Wednesday night. He gives Dean Castiel’s address and a message of good luck, and that’s that. They’re going to meet once and then if they like each other, meet with Gabriel to arrange a contract. Dean feels jumpy, but this time seems a helluva lot safer than last time. 

He hangs up the phone and treats himself to a beer. Then he drives down to the Wal-Mart and finds the store brand Mederma for his legs and some cover-up in the closest color to his “shade.” He doesn’t know how girls do this make-up stuff. When he gets back to the motel, he puts the cream on his legs immediately in hopes that it will start working quickly. He doesn’t really know what he’s expecting it to do. Maybe nothing. 

Sam gets back pretty soon after, and he’s got his arms full of brochures and maps and papers. 

“Watcha got, Sammy?” Dean calls from the kitchen. 

“School stuff,” Sam replies. It’s all for private schools, but there’s tons of financial aid information that Sam found, too. He looks nervous when Dean walks over, but Dean says, “We’ll make it work,” and Sam throws his arms around Dean’s waist. Dean ruffles his hair and smiles to himself.

This could really work out.


End file.
